Game Of Thrones Joffrey Baratheon Purple Days

He visited the Hightower's foundations ten more times, spent months studying the carving by day and having terrifying nightmares by night… and there was not a single extra clue.

Not a single one.

There was only the carving of a man or boy lost in what had to be the purple, though Joffrey was uncertain if it was supposed to represent be him, another person, or simply a symbolical placeholder.

Whatever the answer was, one thing was clear. He shared, in some form he didn't know yet, a connection with the ones who built the obelisks and the deepest bowels of the Hightower…. But whatever the carvings were supposed to mean or represent had been long lost to time… so much time…

The book's author had said that the only other place where he'd seen a similar mark had been in the Golden Empire of Yi-Ti… in its Capital City.

Without even realizing it he had spent much more time than he should have studying the carving…. Far too long.

The Tyrells were flipping Oldtown over, trying to find him.

King Robert had died a couple of days ago.

Joffrey took a deep breath, enjoying the seaward breeze from the top of the Hightower.

He could already hear the pounding steps, getting progressively louder. It had only been a matter of time before House Hightower put 2 and 2 together and sent people up to get him…

Not that he cared... There was nothing left for him in Oldtown.

He stood at the top of the Hightower, looking as the sun slowly hid under the Sunset Sea, its orange light gradually diminishing.

He took another look at the Whalebone tablet, staring at it with his whole being.

"Is the answer in Yi-Ti?" he asked it softly as the wind picked up and the pounding footsteps crashed through a nearby door.

The incredibly complicated rune stared back at him, silent.

"Prince Joffrey! In the name of King Renly--" said a Knight, surrounded by a group or armsmen, but Joffrey didn't hear them, he had only eyes for the tablet.

He breathed in the sharp sea smell that reached him even here atop the Hightower, and closed his eyes.

I will have answers.

"Prince Joffrey!? Wh--"

The voices faded away as he fell forwards, gravity accelerating him incredibly as he fell and fell and fell. Just as he heard the waves crashing against the sharp rocks of Battle Isle, the purple claimed him.

-.PD.-

Up…

Down…

Up…

Down…

The chainmail jingled at each repetition, as Joffrey hanged upside down from the tall closet, raising his head as if to touch his knees and then dropping down to his hanging position again.

Faster, he thought as the sun kept retreating, slowly darkening the room.

He doubled his pacing, chainmail jingling franticly and punctuated by his short, staccato breaths.

Tock-Tock.

Joffrey stopped.

"Yes?" he asked, sweat pouring up his forehead to his hair and into the ground.

"Prince Joffrey, its… your Father… there's been a hunting accident" Said the Hound's voice, slightly more sympathetic than usual.

…Its time, he thought.

"I'll be right there" he said. He grabbed the closet's upper end, where his knees were tucked, and let his knees go. They fell towards his torso, carrying it with their inertia as Joffrey flipped and let his hands go. He landed crouched on the floor, his body completely covered in a sheen of sweat. All around him and discarded around the room were books and tomes, most of them related to the East, the Jade Sea… and the Empire of Yi-Ti.

Too soon… I thought I'd have more time… he thought as he took off the chainmail and put on a simple cloth shirt, with a small lion pin on the chest to make up for the lack of noble pomposity.

He dried himself and took a long drink from the goblet on his desk, letting the water cool him from the inside out.

Fate has a habit of rushing me at the worst of times… There's no more time left…

It'll have to do, he thought with a nod to himself. Plan B will have to do…

He strode out of his room at a brisk pace, up two sets of stairs and through the Red Keep's various hallways. He stopped in front of Robert's chambers, which were flanked by Ser Preston Greenfield and Ser Boros Blunt, two very fitting examples of Robert's legacy, he thought.

They opened the door immediately, "He's inside My Prince" said Greenfield.

Inside the room, on the bed was King Robert Baratheon, pale and sweating like the pig which had gutted him. By his side and a bit to the back were Tommen and Myrcella, crying and holding on to Mother for dear life. When Cercei saw him she extended a hand, trying to console him and holding back crocodile tears, but Joffrey batted her hand away as he walked straight towards Robert.

"Joffrey…" mumbled Robert when he saw him. "I've never… been a very good Father to you… I…" he struggled to say, but Joffrey shushed him.

"I know, Father. I know… it's not your fault… it was not your fault" he murmured as he discreetly opened one of his bandages a bit, evaluating the wound. Robert looked a bit confused as he gazed at Joffrey, blinking heavily. He slowly petted Robert's forehead, removing a few of the sweat drenched tufts of hair and feeling his forehead for fever. "You were never meant for the Game Father… you were meant to ride and hunt and laugh free of the plotters and the backstabbers…" Joffrey muttered without thinking, feeling the searing heat on Robert's forehead. "But you will do it soon… you'll dream of riding and feasting and hunting" his voice hitched as he tried to feel Robert's slow pulse by his wrist, "…and no one will seek to make you what you never wanted to be… you'll be free" Joffrey muttered as he finally stepped back, his mind in the midst of diagnosis, not noticing the small pinpricks of water on the corners of his eyes.

Joffrey nodded to himself as he finished. Robert was now sleeping, his form slowly rising and falling with each breath.

The infection will have claimed him by tomorrow at dusk… but…

He turned to Robert's nightstand, and lifted a small milky vial.

Way too much milk of the poppy… and Pycell will up the dosage again, no doubt…

He'll be dead by the hour of the owl...perfect timing for a deep night coup.

He sighted sadly as he scratched the annoyingly small blond stubble on his chin, thinking.

"What's the matter? Where is the King?!" almost shouted the voice of Ned Stark. Boros Blount responded immediately as if rehearsed, "The King is very tired, my Lord Hand and--"

"Let Lord Stark in, Ser Boros" said Joffrey without looking as he left the vial back on the nightstand.

Ned passed by the startled Ser Boros quickly. Robert seemed to rise from the dead as he woke up at the name, a bit of his old daredevil personality came back at the sight of his oldest friend. "Ned! Come… come here… everyone out! I need to speak alone!" he said as he struggled to lift himself, quickly failing and leaning on the bed again.

"Robert, you need to be with your children right now, wh-" Mother tried as always, but Robert was having none of that.

Joffrey walked out before he was unceremoniously kicked, and quick walked towards the kitchens, not wasting a second.

The servants were very startled when he appeared on the enormous kitchen. They were rushing to finish this night's meal for the inhabitants of the Red Keep. Joffrey scanned the room for a moment until he found the face he wanted. He didn't address him in any way however, he spoke out loud at seemingly all the servants and cooks.

"I need a plate of greatwood deer, as soon as possible" he told them. The servants were a bit nonplussed at that, and some were nodding and turning (probably to go to King's Landing's trapper's market) when one of the servants stepped forward.

"Ahh… m'prince… would you want it rare or… medium?" he asked.

"Blue rare… hells I need it raw" he said, dead serious.

"R-raw?" he asked, a bit shocked. The other servants were cringing at the Royal questioning… or alternatively giving the man looks of pity.

Joffrey nodded "Like right now" he said. "ah.. of course m'prince" he said as he bowed and left. The other servants looked at his retreating back with restrained anger, but unwilling to berate his recklessness in front of the Prince.

"That will be all" he said as he turned back the way he came from. He almost ran to his room, but managed to contain it to a brisk walk.

When he finally made it to his room, he quickly packed all the books into a long backpack which he slung across his back, followed by a few gold bags, his arming sword and finally a dagger on his belt. He walked out quickly, the night now completely dark except for the occasional lanterns or torches.

He almost crashed against the Spider when he turned a corner.

"L-lord Varys?" he asked, a bit started.

"Ah, Prince Joffrey. Allow me to convey my deepest sympathies for your Father's accident" he said, the kind man act making him look even more dangerous. "Yes yes, I thank you my lord" he said as he tried to edge to the side of his enormous body.

"So much haste… one would think the Queen's fear of her son's lust for adventure might be justified…" he said as if to himself.

"What are you talking about?" Joffrey said dangerously, turning back to look at the Spider.

"Oh I am but a spectator in all this family drama… but let me just say that the Queen has been very worried about her son's frequent… hobby in Blackwater Bay… and that she has taken certain measures to ensure her son stays safely in the Red Keep until the recent intrigues quiet down…" said the spider.

Joffrey stopped and thought for a second before rushing to a nearby window and looking out at the courtyard. Sure enough, out there by the gate was a contingent of Redcloaks commanded by a white cloak, he couldn't tell which, surrounding the gate… and if the Spider talked truly, keeping an eye out for him.

Fuck… how did Mother guess?!

… Must have shown a bit too much enthusiasm when talking about my little 'pleasure trips' in the Blackwater…

"Of course, sometimes even builders can get sloppy… alternative passages can get forgotten by all but the most alert of individuals…" the Spider continued knowingly.

Joffrey understood immediately. He was nowhere near close to Tyrion but he had learned a thing or two… "What do you want in return?" he asked him. The Spider just shrugged, spreading his white palms out, "Absolutely nothing" he said.

"You'd help me… for nothing?" he asked, nonplussed at the breach of etiquette in the game.

Varys just nodded magnanimously, and Joffrey frowned. No one played like that. "What is your angle in all of this, Varys? I can't decide whether you want the Kingdoms to burn to the ground or raised to the pinnacle of what they could be…" he asked him.

"I am but a servant of the Kingdoms, my Prince. I do what I must" he said as he leaned forward and whispered close. "Behind the cupboard in the old kitchens, below the White Sword Tower… follow the caverns and a small cog will be waiting for you" he said.

Joffrey stood still for a second as he processed that. He nodded. "Thank you Lord Varys, that will do nicely" he said as the spider nodded back and kept walking amiably.

What does he get out of this…

He shook his head as he went down a flight of stairs. No time to think about the Spider's motivations…

He walked out of Maegor's Holdfast, but instead of taking the route for the sword tower, he took a turn towards the inner courtyard, walking through the serpent steps.

I'll thank the spider for the tip in some other life, but there's no way in hells that I'm boarding a ship whose crew he's bought and paid for. For all I know they'll slit my throat in that cavern for a bag of gold.

Besides, I've worked too hard for this to go to the crapper.

He stopped when he heard the sound of fighting, and quickly took cover behind a couple of barrels. Right to his side was the Tower of the Hand, filled with the stench of death. Outside were six Redcloaks, looking about alertly, surrounded by dead Stark men. One of the Greycloaks was crawling towards the barrels, but a Redcloak stepped over him and pierced his back with his sword.

Shit, things are moving too fast… Robert must be dead already.

Between my mother's orders and the frequent fighting…

Fuck, there's no way I'm making it through the front gate…

Not until tomorrow when things calm down a bit and I'm King, but that opens a whole other sack of shit… and nine times out of ten I can't leave the Red Keep as King without raising a hell of a show. And that's without even thinking about something unexpected… after Robert dies anything can happen, for all I know Loras was visiting with 300 Tyrell armsmen and Renly is now forming a strike force at Baelor's Sept.

No, I've got to bug out now.

That means…

It was time for plan C.

Shit… well… can't live forever, he thought to himself in mild, alarmed amusement.

He kept peeking through between two barrels, and sighted angrily as a bunch of Redcloaks manhandled Sansa and Arya out of the tower. Arya was white as a sheet, clearly in shock, while Sansa was crying as she kept trying to look back. Her face was streaked by tears and her gown was partly torn up. She stumbled a bit as she tripped over a dead Greycloak, but the Redcloak behind her brutally dragged her by the arm, her legs dragging through the ground for a moment before she found her footing again.

Joffrey tensed his muscles as if ready to leap, hand on his dagger.

They're one-two… five of them, ambush the left one and cut his throat, then dash forward—

He shook his head. Wowowow… clam down damnit, he thought as he took a deep breath. As angry… as furious as he was with the handling of the Stark girls, intervening would get him nowhere.

He took another calming breath as they carried them to Maegor's holdfast. After a few minutes the rest of the Redcloaks walked out of the Tower, carrying a few other dead or wounded comrades back to their barracks.

He checked both sides of the courtyard… there was no one else at this hour, and the quarter-moon was low on the horizon far west towards Oldtown, giving minimum light and plenty of shadows for Joffrey to hide in.

The tower of the hand was actually perfect for the next phase, now that he thought about it… He would have to carry on and hope his plan worked, because there was no plan D.

He left his long backpack on the floor and dashed inside, ignoring the dead corpses of Ned's personal guard. He quickly ran up the stars, taking all the lanterns he could find and shutting them out. He spared a brief glance to Septa Mordane, who was lying on the ground, bled out.

You were a sour bitch and responsible for the temporal dulling of a beautiful mind, but not even you deserve such a fate you old crone… he thought as he kept running, gathering up everything flammable.

Once in Ned's cellar he spilled the lantern oil on the books, the table, the floor, everywhere.

He stood back as he tossed the last one, the only one whose flame he'd left on. A small fire was soon under way, consuming the small bookcase and the carpet, slowly inching up towards the supporting pillars.

Joffrey dashed outside and grabbed his backpack, jogging towards the North-Eastern most tower. Soon a guard shouted "halt!" but was quickly startled when he saw Joffrey. He was now in front of the tower which marked the end of the Red Keep's north eastern corner. A great round thing that rose up and watched over the long cliff and the sea beyond.

Before the guard could ask the Prince anything, Joffrey screamed with all his being.

"THE TRAITORS ARE INSIDE THE RED KEEP! THEY'RE BURNING EVERYTHING!"

The guards outside the tower got up to their feet in confusion, but quickly took out their swords and called for their comrades inside the tower as they saw the fire atop the tower of the Hand.

"Everyone out! We are under attack!" shouted one of the guards. "Arlon! Stay with the Prince!"

Soon the guards at the tower dashed out as Arlon, another redcloak, took him inside.

"You'll be safe here m'prince" he said as he barred the door behind him. "I know" Joffrey said in a strangled tone as he stabbed him in the neck from behind. The man crumbled to the floor as Joffrey dashed up the stairs, passing through floors full of swords, beds and discarded cards.

He reached the top of the tower and quickly started opening the crates that were stacked to the side, hearing the roaring sound of the waves crashing against the cliff.

"Come on come on come on…." He whispered as he kept searching.

I told Dallen to leave it here, but I didn't insist… I never thought I'd actually do this… fuck, what if he forgot? Maybe I should have taken the Eunuch's offer… shit shit shit—

"Yes!" he muttered as he got out a big waterproofed sealhide bag. From it he took a thick and long rope, along a few scaling implements. Then he put his own backpack inside it, closed it tight and strapped it to his back.

He tied the rope to one of the tower's crenellations, put on a pair of deer skin leather gloves and promptly jumped off the tower.

He was hanging vertically now, with the restless sea to his back and the stars in front. He jumped from the cliff again, loosening his grip on the rope and grimacing as the heat from the friction warmed his gloves quickly.

I've got to tell Tyrion about this someday…

He let go again and again, jumping each time as the rope screeched and his hands burned.

He cursed as he suddenly felt pulling…

Someone's trying to bring me up! He thought in alarm.

His rate of descent started slowing as with each jump the rope was also pulled upwards, each time faster as Joffrey guessed that more and more people joined the tug of war.

Suddenly he realized he had about 5 meters left of rope, and the sea… was still a bit down.

He gulped as he looked at the waves crashing against the jagged rocks, pieces of flotsam twirling in between.

He looked up, at the shouting, barely discernable figures and the starry sky.

I will have answers.

He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and let go.

He felt the wind and the water and suddenly a great pain as he tumbled under the sea, the currents pulling at him from different directions as if trying to carry him deeper.

Joffrey couldn't tell which way was the surface, and every second he kept tumbling under the water in confusion was another second that he sank deeper into the black sea.

He was drowning.

He felt sluggish, almost as if the sea itself were cupping its hands and carrying him deeper and deeper—

--Old bones float Old bones float Old bones float Old bones float--

He kept tumbling and tumbling as he tore at his trousers' sewed pocket, trying to open it with all his strength. He managed to grab the tablet and toss it away, as strongly as he could.

He stopped struggling and curled into a ball as he kept sinking… the freezing water almost embracing him as it sapped his warmth.

He closed his eyes and thought of ancient heart trees and long red leaves twirling around a small shroud…

He felt the tablet, slowly going away from him.

Joffrey swam after the tablet with a burst of energy, moving arms and legs in powerful strokes as the air burned in his lungs and purple agony assaulted the edges of his vision.

He took a harrowing breath as he broke the surface, head butting the tablet away. He kept breathing desperately as he grabbed the tablet with one hand and checked the sealskin bag was still attached to his back.

It was.

Follow the moon towards the east, he thought. Follow the moon…

He swam towards the moon, arms moving like pistons thanks to months of physical conditioning.

Breath… stroke….moon…. Breath…stroke… moon…. Breath… stroke… moon.

Every time his head rose from the water to take another breath he looked at the moon like a crazed moth, triple checking he was on the correct course.

Soon the full moon was burning on his retina, and every time his head entered the water again for another stroke he still saw it… but under the water the figure was distorted, like a great yellowish red eye gazing back from the depths of the ocean.

The eye seemed to stare into his soul, pulling him down with a strange force as his limbs locked and the purple rushed in from the sides of his vision like bloodhounds.

-.PD.-

Joffrey took a sudden breath, puking water to the side.

He was suddenly aware of a voice in his ear.

"CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN, CAN YOU HEAR ME!?" he heard.

He puked water again as he tried to get up. Strong hands helped him and soon he was looking at a dozen sailors, all clustered around him and eying him with respect.

"Give him space you idiots! Captain, are you all right?!" asked Chief Valyon, shaking his shoulder.

Joffrey took a few seconds to breathe before nodding.

"I'm quite alright Chief Valyion… where are we?" he rasped as the sailors slowly dispersed back to their duties.

"Very close to the Red Keep, Captain. We had barely loaded half of the Arbor Gold after young Rennik told us the timetable had moved, but when I saw the signal fire I decided to set sail immediately. I accept full responsibility for the lost cargo and--"

"I'll have none of that Chief Valyion, you did the right thing" he said, still shaken as he kept breathing hard. He walked to the side of the sleek ship and gazed back at the Red Keep, dark and foreboding as the rest of the ocean.

He shook his head as he walked back towards the mainmast and leaned on it, his breath slowing down.

"Set sail for Volantis, we'll resupply at Tyrosh" he ordered.

Chief Valyon saluted, the short, stocky man raising a fist to his chest and turning back to get the sailors organized.

Joffrey grasped the handrail around the mast and spit out a bit of water, before sitting down.

Let's not do that again, he thought to himself as the ship turned towards what would be their first stop in their journey East.

-.PD.-

"GET THOSE JIBS DOWN!" Joffrey shouted as he walked down the stairs and into the central deck. "Helmsman, give her another two points starboard!" Joffrey ordered as he looked up.

Jon Rivers, the Jade Dream's helmsman nodded as he shouted. "Two points starboard aye Captain!"

"Seaman Dorreo, get those ropes in order! I want this ship tied to the harbor so tight a storm will have to take Volantis itself before us!" he shouted at the group of seamen to his right. The men grunted various types of acknowledges and 'Aye Cap'n's before dashing to it.

The Jade Dream's was a fast runner, just like the Eastern Winds. The sleek and fast trading cog had made good time towards Volantis, and beyond a few pirates in the stepstones, which didn't know what hit them, it had been smooth sailing overall.

He had been drilling the crew for months, sailing around Blackwater bay in supposed 'pleasure cruises'. Instead of laying in the sun or mindlessly ordering a bunch of sailors around as most people in the Red Keep must have thought, Joffrey had been drilling the crew and handling the ship itself for the eventual journey East. After more than a few close calls on the Seatail, and even a couple of prematurely ended lives on his Citadel run, he had decided he'd take a little more time preparing for the trip East, ensuring the ship and crew he chose were up to the task.

He now felt they were.

Joffrey still thought he didn't have the skills necessary to handle a top crew on a fast trader like Nakaro had, but he felt there was no choice… he needed answers.

So he, as Tyrion put it in another life, faked it till he made it. To his mild surprise, the crew of the Jade Dreams had followed him without hesitation after one good first impression, and they thought of him as some sort of rouge prince fleeing from his assigned destiny, a royal which had been born with the sea in his heart and the knowledge and bearing to carry it through.

What a bunch of fools… honest, competent fools…

He walked to the forward deck, were the ship ended and the view of Volantis was uninterrupted. The Black Walls were huge, he still thought of them as big even after seeing many other humongous shapes, both natural and manmade.

Those that were not of the Old Blood were not allowed to pass beneath them (which had horribly confused Joffrey at the time, how were the slaves they loved so much supposed to serve them, did they need to be of the 'old blood' too?) he had still been able to explore them in a past life. The enormous wall, though bearing some similarities to what Joffrey was looking for, was not the deep, sun absorbing black he was searching. He'd read quite a lot about it when he had been getting his last link at the citadel, Red Gold. Its construction had been well documented by historians and it had a clear Valyrian slant, certainly not a million years old.

He didn't want to wait here too long, but the crew was tired and the ship needed supplies, so he'd wait… for now

-.PD.-

Volantis was truly massive. It was the biggest of the Free cities, and once the most populous. A big, very wide and long bridge creatively named 'the Long Bridge' crossed the mouth of the Rhoyne, with a multitude of small shops hanging from the sides, selling literally everything from jewels to wines to slaves. Joffrey lost himself in the crowd, enjoying the feeling of anonymity. He drifted from shop to shop, spending thriftily on small dishes, fruits, knickknacks and generally being a nuisance for the frequent palanquins which crossed the bridge. The worthies of Volantis thought only lesser men crossed the city on their own two feet.

Bunch of idiots.

The City boasted the dubious privilege of being an even more 'sophisticated' hive of intrigue than Westeros, what with the frequent elections… once every year. When Joffrey had heard that he'd thought it had been a jest, he thought the city would have burnt to the ground already if that were true.

Somehow, maybe by bringing it all into the open, the Volantenes managed to elect a bunch of Triarchs once a year, even managing it without much bloodshed. That was not to say the city was any less deadly than King's Landing. Out of election season, assassination was a common hobby, and the disgraced families that lost the game usually did permanently, falling in prestige, losing their lands and many times even being sold as slaves.

And the slaves…

They were everywhere. For every freedman in the city there were five slaves each. They did everything, from cleaning the streets to bedding houses to running shops to carrying palanquins and even teaching the sons of nobles. They had tattoos on their skin to show their status, each occupation represented by a different symbol with different colors.

Joffrey thought it was a deliberate move by the city's nobles ever since its founding, not a mere tradition. There had been a word that had struck with Joffrey when he heard it… what had it been?

It had been Archmaester Perestan, gesticulating thoughtfully with his copper scepter...

Yes… He remembered it now.

Dehumanizing. That had been the word.

All people in positions of power did it, be it to their subjects or their enemies. Archmaester Perestan had thought that all men had, in some way, a resistance towards acts of evil being committed to other men, so the trick was to dehumanize your enemy or the class of people you wanted to keep down, skip the resistance altogether by making other people think of them as something less than human, thus evading any possible empathy.

For a master of History, Joffrey had thought Archmaester Perestan had an awfully optimistic view of humanity.

Whatever the underlying process was, the practice, according to him, was pretty effective, and Joffrey could see it right now. To the freeborn and the nobles, the ones with the tattoos were somehow a bit more invisible than other people.

Joffrey had been sitting on some kind of public park (an improvement over King's Landing, he gave them that) and watching people come and go. The noble's and the rest of the freeborn didn't seem to regard them as people at all… Their eyes even had a tendency to skip over people with a tattoo, a physical reaction. It was not as if they did it consciously, not regularly at least, it had become an ingrained reaction. Archmaester Perestan had spoken about that too, and how it helped make Slave Rebellions an even more frightening prospect for masters. It was as if hordes of monsters appeared out of nowhere, as if the tapestry or the carriage you used to go to the market suddenly became alive with violent intent.

Sadly, said rebellions rarely happened and those that succeeded were rarer still. Even rarer yet were the ones where the slave's situation improved in any meaningful way… Joffrey thought the revolt that would eventually lead to Braavos must be the only one that fitted all those characteristics in the last thousand years… a living beacon that such a thing was possible. That must be one of the reasons the huge Volantene warfleet frequently menaced and sometimes even skirmished against Braavosi war galleys… though never the trade fleets. That could hurt commerce and start a war…

Hypocrites…

"You look like you could use some time to relax" someone said in perfect Westerosi from his side, startling him.

Without realizing it, he had drifted to the other side of the bridge, where a big brothel showed its wares. The woman who spoke at him had her face completely tattooed with beautiful blue and green feathers. They extended through her neck and down her breasts, twirling down towards her navel until her loose robe hid them.

Joffrey looked at her, a bit mesmerized as she walked towards him.

Feathers… tattoos…

Slave…

He shook his head in disgust. "You are truly beautiful, but I think I'd prefer to take my women willingly" he told her in High Valyrian as he stepped back. She gazed at him with a small smile before winking at him and searching for other customers.

Willingly… for target practice… whispered a corner of his mind.

He let out a deep sight as he kept walking.

-.PD.-

As he drifted with the crowd, Joffrey soon found himself below the Temple of the Lord of Light. He'd visited it only briefly in a past life, when the Eastern Winds had delivered a cargo for a prominent Elephant Noble.

He'd forgotten how huge it was. As Archmaester Gramyon had said in…

Damnit.

The venerable Archmaester had written a million books throughout his lifetime, and not all had been concerned with architecture, but Joffrey clearly remembered reading one of them where it said that the thing was at least three times the size of the Sept of Baelor.

It was all shades of reds, oranges and yellows, merging and twirling into a veritable complex of buildings and towers and domes. In front of it was a great plaza, from where the priests led the faithful in the bigger ceremonies. He hadn't liked it much the last time he'd been there, and he didn't much like it now. The faith of the R'hllor seemed zealous and fanatical, hells bent on trying to convert any wayward soul they could spot, though they kept the city's peace.

He guessed they weren't too different from the faith of the seven, but… well, after being offered as a sacrifice in one life by Stannis's red bitch, he wasn't making an effort to understand them.

Benerro, the cities high priest, was certainly a sight to behold. Joffrey had seldom met a speaker of his caliber, he was so above the fat High Septon in terms of both zeal and oratory as a dragon was to a mole. The man was lanky and tall, his face a sea of flame tattoos as he gesticulated at the crowd and at the Red Comet that appeared like clockwork about a year into his lives.

They had called it "King Joffrey's Comet" at court. The mere memory of that made him want to duck in shame at the vacant flattery, and at the insult of naming something so magnificent after him, as some sort of omen for his victory. The rare year that he had both made it that far and been studying astronomy, the Comet had been completely unexpected by the Maesters. Archmaester Vaellyn had basically cloistered himself with Archmaester Ryam and a group of maesters to try and calculate the orbit of the thing. He never managed to stay there long after that, but from what little he'd seen of the Archmaester's calculations, the Comet's orbit was eccentric, really eccentric. The last time the thing passed this close to Planetos must have been thousands of years ago.

It had a perfectly reasonable explanation, and yet people all around the world had attributed their own meanings to it. In King's Landing it had been an omen of Joffrey's victory, in Ib it had signaled the return of the Greater Leviathans (he hoped they were wrong, for their sake. Those words should never go together.) In Braavos it was a celebration of the city's founding, and in Lys it signaled that the highest pleasures reachable by man would soon be bestowed upon the worthies of the city.

Volantis was no exception.

Benerro spoke with zeal and conviction, his hands frequently pointing at the huge torches in front of him, making them soar to the sky in a spectacle of flames. "The great Lord R'hallor has spoken through the flames, and the Red Comet carries he's message!" he let the suspense build before spreading his arms wide, the torrents of flames rising higher. "I have seen her! Azhor Azai has been reborn, she who will save us from the Great Other and his eternal darkness!" he shrieked in ecstasy as the crowd gasped in awe, the flames turning orange.

Great… now they have some kind of messianic savior. What could possibly go wrong? He thought in mild alarm.

"The great Lord of Light has shown me her future! Three great dragons that will grow in power and might, three great heads that will cleanse us from the great evil, three--"

Joffrey's head was pounding, a bit dizzy.

Three heads…

Three heads?! With three dragons?!

The Faith of R'hllor has allied with the surviving Targeryens!?

This… this was not good…

"You've got to be fucking kidding me…" he muttered. If a Targeryen pretender marched on Westeros with the support of the huge church of R'hllor… They had a lot of followers, as well as chests of gold and even a private army!

Make that the war of the six kings then. At this rate there won't be anyone left in Westeros to rule over.

He refocused on the square when he noticed Benerro had stopped talking.

He was looking directly at Joffrey.

…

He kept staring at him, and Joffrey decided maybe it was time he left.

He made his way through the crowd, and when he turned back to look at Benerro again, all he saw was a pommel descending straight to his face.

-.PD.-

"Why are you here?" said a voice in his ear.

He slowly blinked his eyes open…

"Wha--" SLAM

A huge fist crashed against his belly, making him grunt in pain as he doubled over the chair he was tied over.

"Why are you here?" said the voice, in the same tone.

"Hey! I'm just visiting places and--" SLAM.

This one was to the side of his head, leaving him dazed.

"This place does not belong to He of the Many Faces. Only the Lord has the power of life and death here" said another voice as it approached Joffrey, a small red priest which was holding a red hot pincer over a big brazier.

Joffrey spat blood to the side, looking around him. He was in some kind of darkened room or cellar. "I've suffered worst you pyromaniacs… Cook me medium rare please, add mintroses for---" SLAM.

The fist slammed him in the belly again, cutting him off. The man that had hit him was a big, armored slave with flames tattooed over his head.

A member of the Fiery Hand. The Church's own Private Army…

The hot pincer was now half a meter away from him.

"You will tell us your target, fake one" he said as the pincer advanced. It hadn't even touched his skin and he could already feel the heat emanating from it.

Wait… fake one? He of many faces?

They think I am a faceless man or something..?!

"Wait" said a smooth voice, a stark contrast to its usual shrieking or carrying state.

Both zealots stopped immediately and stepped aside. Benerro glided into the room, robes swirling behind him as he strolled with some kind of iron clad certainty that he'd reach his destination. He reached Joffrey and squatted next to him, grabbing his head by the sides as he stared right into his eyes.

"Oh Benerro, this is all a bit sudden…" Joffrey giggled as he tried to undo the ropes on his hands.

The City's head priest said nothing, only gazing sternly at his eyes. Finally, after a second or an hour, he stood up.

"He's not a faceless man, you are what you are Prince Joffrey… but… how…?" he said the last with some kind of deep confusion.

Joffrey took a minute to recompose himself after the staring session with Benerro. There's something about Crazy that you can spot it in another person's eyes… And Benerro had a double serving of it inside. "How what?! I'm just minding my own business. I suppose you'd like a shipping itinerary of my journey?" he asked bitingly.

Benerro didn't seem to hear him though, he was shaking his head and muttering, confused. He frequently turned and gazed at the big brazier to the side where the pincer had been heated.

"But… I can still see it… how?!" he said, almost in despair as he leaned closer to the flames, so close Joffrey thought his hair would have burst into flame. If he had any.

"I see your fate young Joffrey… a great wedding and a mean mind, a purpled face and an accusing mother…" said Benerro almost to himself.

Joffrey stood very still, not moving an inch. His breathing stopped so he could better hear Benerro.

"A trial for an Imp and a burial for a King… A triumphant mockingbird flitting around a field of green and gold flowers… a new marriage for a realm, more war and death and destruction…" Benerro muttered, his concentration on the flames supreme.

Joffrey was shivering at the display, breath hitched. Benerro was actually seeing the future… but…

The future of my first life… my funeral… the Imp was the obvious fall man… a trial… gods, they most likely killed him…

His shivering became stronger.

A new marriage for a realm… the Lannister-Tyrell alliance would need to carry on, Myrcella… no… needs to be the King. Tommen with Maergery again, widowed and married again.

More war and death and destruction… gods how could it get worse?

Joffrey remembered the calculations he'd made one day, after closing his shipping insurer business for the afternoon. It had been a slog, but Joffrey had needed to know…

He calculated a rough estimate of the damage to the realm that the wars would have cost up to his death. The regular campaigns on the Riverlands, the lightning sacking of the Westerlands, the plundering of the North by the Iron Islanders, the battles on the Stormlands, the unrest in the Reach…

The War of the five Kings had not been raging all that long before he died, but the level of devastation had been completely out of proportion with that.

It had been decades of literally lost time, decades for the Realm to put itself back together…

But even more… He could see it really… how had he been so naïve as to think it would have all ended after the five original Kings were dead…

With Balon dead, the Ironborn could focus on much richer targets such as the undefended Reach, and the Dornish might have joined the fray to take revenge on the Lannisters… maybe somebody snapped Lysa Arryn from her stupor and the Vale attacked to take revenge for the Red Wedding…

And the Targeryen pretender with an army of zealots…

Too many possibilities, so much death and waste…

All of this passed through Joffrey's mind lightning quick as Benerro grunted in frustration and almost jutted his head on the fire, his hands grasping the brazier with all their strength, the sound of fizzling flesh assaulting Joffrey's nose.

"No! Must see before… Three Dragon… no… A king of the pack.. No! Before!"

His voice suddenly stilled, speaking much more softly as he placed his head on top of the flames.

The sound of burning flesh punctuated his monologue.

"An old wolf beheaded… A boy drunk with power… yes… I see you right now! I SEE YOU!!! A deformed lion cub, surrounded by poisons and swords. A spurned white cloak, an indignity delivered upon a legend, a lifelong duty stolen!" he screeched as he got his head out of the fire. Parts of his flesh were cooked black, and one of his eyes was no more, but the one that remained look at Joffrey as if he were both blasphemy and deadly curse.

Swords and poisons.. the throne?... A spurned white cloak and a legend… oh gods… Am I… Was I dismissing Ser Barristan from the Kingsguard right at this moment in my first life?

"YOU ARE HERE WHEN YOU COULD NOT! HOW CAN YOU DEFY THE LORD OF LIGHT!? WHAT ARE YOU?!?!" he screamed as he stumbled back and the other two men retreated in fear from Joffrey, holding Benerro as his mad ramblings suddenly stopped and he fell on the arms of the Red soldier, unconscious.

Both men stared in some kind of terror at Joffrey as they slowly retreated towards the door.

Joffrey was both shaken and exasperated.

"Look people… I… you can take your complaints to the fucking purple! Just let me--"

He wasn't able to finish before they slammed the door shut, leaving him alone with the godsdamned brazier.

There was a lot in Joffrey's mind, but he needed to priorities.

Right, get out of here first, think later. I give ten to one odds that after they get over the shock they'll put a sword through my chest… or better yet, burn me atop their temple to appease the Red Comet or something.

He quickly felt the ropes that had his hands tied to the back of the chair. One thing was quickly apparent.

The Soldiers of the Fiery Hand were no great sailors.

If Seaman Dorreo had done this knot I would have had him cleaning the deck till the end of time…

He quickly disentangled it, and he leapt to his feet as he dashed to the door. He pressed his ear to it, and tried to open it after hearing nothing.

The door opened without complaint.

They even forgot to lock me in… they think I'm something more scary than a faceless man…

He let that thought percolate through his head before concentrating and feeling the tablet.

He walked two doors through a long red stoned corridor before turning to the left and opening a door. It was a small storage room, and on the ground was his small 'city pouch' along with his sword and dagger.

I'd never would have thought that little oddity of yours would be so useful, he mused as he made sure the tablet was in the pouch and he strapped his weapons to his back.

He walked out of the room silently and walked towards one end of the corridor, but promptly stopped when a veritable mob of Fiery Hand soldiers turned a corner and saw him, 15 meters away.

They were carrying swords, axes and a lot of torches, holding on to them as if their life depended on it. They stared at him in stomach curling terror before one of them stepped forward, torches in both hands.

"FOR THE LORD OF LIGHT!!!" he screamed like a man condemned as he ran at Joffrey, the rest of the soldiers responding with a roar of their own and charging after the brave one.

Joffrey turned around and ran in the opposite direction.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck

He ran through a set of stairs that went up and slammed through a door which barred the way. He was suddenly on the Temple's main hall, full of people worshiping and Red Priests giving benedictions or omens. Beside him a Red Priest tumbled to the ground, holding his bloodied nose.

"I'm sorry!" he said as he dashed as fast as he could towards the exit.

He pushed and shoved past the confused faithful and was at the great opened gates of the temple when he heard a shout from behind him.

"KILL THE ABOMINATION! BE BRAVE IN THE NAME OF R'HLLOR!!!" roared someone from within the contingent of soldiers that spilled from the passageway.

Your stupid god has apparently nothing on the Purple you idiots! He wanted to shout back but he kept running, exiting the temple past the startled and confused guards, which soon heard the shouts and cries and joined the pursuit.

Joffrey ran through stalls and markets, taking sharp turns at alleys and dashing over the streets.

He ran out of an alley and promptly bounced back to the ground. A huge grey beast rose its legs, sharp long tusks glinting in the afternoon light as it gave a thumpy roar.

Elephant, supplied a helpful part of Joffrey's head.

The startled animal came down and Joffrey's quick reflexes and fast rolling skills were the only thing that saved him.

And right behind him appeared the fiery mob, the veritable sea of flaming torches sizzling and waving right in front of the startled animal.

A sound like a horn from the seven hells resounded within Joffrey's skull as the big beast roared and started jumping and turning, smashing people and goring red soldiers as the noble atop it fell down to the pavement and broke his leg.

"You people should really walk on your own two feet, safer that way" Joffrey blurted out at the moaning man as he scrambled out of the quagmire and stood up, running for the docks.

He saw inside his head an imaginary Tyrion lowering his cup and raising both hands to the air, six digits out of ten.

Not bad… he thought irreverently as he ducked through another alleyway, breaking the line of sight of whomever had not been busy enough fending for their life against an enraged monster.

-.PD.-